


hell is empty and all the devils are here

by dehydratedpool



Series: there’s no water inside this swimming pool [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Established Relationship, Harry Styles Needs a Hug, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Smut, Top Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 06:21:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30135324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dehydratedpool/pseuds/dehydratedpool
Summary: Who would he be if he were to die now, where would he end up? Where would he go now that his soul is deprived of life?
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: there’s no water inside this swimming pool [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1834300
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	hell is empty and all the devils are here

**Author's Note:**

> yeah idk what this is. i'm bipolar so i wrote about it ?? anyways LMAO
> 
> title is from "the tempest" by shakespeare

Hell is empty, Harry thinks. The only thing in Hell is lost souls, who groan in agony that’s rich with regret and heartache. The demons of Hell walk the earth, tormenting and raging against those with expectation in their eyes and light in their hearts. The souls of Hell are already drained of anything that would be deemed as life, so they come to earth to suck the souls of the living until they’re nothing but a rotting corpse. Harry believes he’s one of Hell’s victims, long before he’s even passed. Who would he be if he were to die now, where would he end up? Where would he go now that his soul is deprived of life?

Clenching his jaw, he grips the chainlink of the swing. Rust particles fall on top of Harry’s curls as he swings back and forth. The metal creaked an irritating whine, blue flakes of paint fluttering to the mulch beneath his shoes. His toes drag against the dirt, making tiny piles of earth as he swings.

Usually, swinging makes him dizzy, nauseous rumbling in his lower belly. Closing his eyes helps sometimes, but he’s never been able to swing like he could when he was a child, when his mind wasn’t as plagued with agonizing thoughts and when his head wasn’t yet dunked into a dark liquid of harsh realities as pleasing as a toilet bowl.

Thursday’s cool air breezes past Harry, his hair snapping in his eyes and against his pink cheeks. The continuous squeaks of the swingset become borderline annoying at this point, but he can’t bring himself to stop, can’t bring himself to stop the easy, steady rhythm of moving back and forth in fear he may spiral into something he won’t be able to leave easily.

He’s waiting for Louis, his boyfriend who he met during his first semester at UConn in their shared English class. That was over three years ago, and since then, Harry’s dropped out and Louis’ continued on with majoring in psychology (but to be fair, this has changed _at least_ three times since they started dating). Louis enjoys it; he likes to use the techniques he’s learned about the human psyche on Harry, and sometimes it can be interesting, but Harry'll never admit this; it can be quite exhausting to hear sometimes.

Because Louis knows. Louis knows how Harry can fall into bouts of depression for periods of time, how he’ll stop eating and watch the pounds shed off of him like articles of clothing, how sometimes he can reach a manic high and become highly irrtatble and can’t sit still for more than five seconds without having to move his arms back and forth, how sometimes Harry pretends to not know the risks of unsafe sex and manages to convince Louis that “just this once, it’ll be fine,” and it’s  _ not _ , it’s really not okay, none of it is. Louis  _ knows _ , embarrassing in itself, he knows and doesn’t say much.

Harry isn’t ungrateful. In fact, he’s grateful that Louis doesn’t prod, doesn’t push Harry to talk to someone that isn’t himself, like he does at four in the morning when Harry can’t sleep and the light from a new day has yet to break the horizon. Louis accepts all of his quirks and flaws with loving, open arms, and Harry couldn’t feel more loved.

“Sunshine?” Louis’ voice calls from a distance. Harry lifts his head up, bits of curls falling into his eyesight, but he can still see Louis clear as day; a yellow halo engulfing his figure from a setting sun, cigarette smoke dancing between his outstretched fingers. Harry remains seated as Louis approaches him, his headphones resting on his neck, a cd player tucked into the scratchy pocket of his raincoat.

“Hi,” Harry embarrassingly coos, Louis stepping between his outstretched legs--or, as outstretched as they can be thanks to the restriction of the swing’s seat. He beams, eyes shiny with prickled tears that he can’t place the origin of. Louis leans forward, pressing a sweet kiss to the crown of his hair.

“How long’ve you been waiting?” Louis whispers, flicking his cigarette. Harry takes the stick from his fingers, bringing it to his own lips. 

“‘Bout thirty minutes or so, not too long,'' Harry guesses. Louis frowns, bringing a hand to Harry’s cool cheek.

“Sorry, took longer than expected,” Louis’ lip quirk slightly. Harry shrugs, “No biggie. You’re here now.”

“I am,” Louis gleams, Harry moving the cigarette from between his lips as Louis presses the softest, gentlest kiss to his pouty lips. It brings a spark of something into Harry’s brain, and for a moment, he feels like the demons of Hell haven’t taken enough of anything.

Joints crack when he stands, one hand resting on the dip of Louis’ waist. It’s not painful. It reminds Harry he has a bit of humanity left.

“Let’s go home,” Louis whispers between cracked lips, and Harry nods, curls brushing against his acne ridden forehead.

. . .

Groans erupt from the depth of Harry’s chest, cracking at its impact to the humid air surrounding them. He’s thrusting into Louis at a rhythmic pace, hips snapping into the flesh of Louis’ ass. Louis’ a right mess beneath him, lips parted and eyes closed. From their position, Harry can see the tiny lilac capillaries that run along Louis’ eyelids, eyelashes fanned against his smooth cheekbones. 

He presses tiny kisses to said cheekbones, the skin soothing against his soft lips, sweat pooling at the base of his spine.

“Make me feel so good, baby,” Louis moans, fingers clawing Harry’s flesh, running down his back. He pushes up into Harry’s hips, his voice shot as he releases another moan. Harry slides a clammy hand down the headboard beside Louis’ face, the pressure from Louis’ crossed ankles, ones littered in kisses, pressed against his hips sensitive. 

He moves his lips down to Louis’ neck, biting harshly against his fluttering pulse, sucking and kissing a trail of fuchsia down to the sweat pooled in his collarbones. His mind is fogged, only bits and pieces of a constant ache prevalent when he’s with Louis in this intimate, special kind of way. He feels himself become enlightened, his ego rising with every utter of praise that leaves Louis’ lips. 

For a moment, there are no lingering demons around. Perhaps they are hiding in the corners of the room, waiting for Harry’s mind to become unguarded with insomnia and post-orgasm haze. It’s easy to keep focused, the back and forth of his hips, the slide of his cock more pleasing than any drug. Yet, this is a drug of sorts, one that comes free and is easy to obtain. It’s a simple mechanism, the act itself, and it brings a distinct euphoria unobtainable by any other means.

“Close,” Harry moans into Louis’ neck. He feels a hand on the back of his hand, pulling at his hair.

“Look at me, wanna look at you,” Louis breathes, and he’s close too, telling by the exhaustion of his movements, his fingers barely holding onto the tendrils of brown that originate at the top of his neck. With hooded eyes, Harry lifts his head up, a haze in his dilated pupils as he takes in the indigo of Louis’ irises, one that is only around in this state of existence. 

With every piston of his hips, Louis’ cries grow, exuberance flooding Harry’s ears as he comes, white hot liquid painting their stomachs. Harry follows quickly behind, legs shaking and hips stuttering as he finds home in the heat of Louis, abs clenched and mouth hung open in a long groan. A couple more superficial thrusts and he exits the comfort, sitting on his knees between Louis’ spread ones. 

He watches Louis’ chest move languidly, arms above his head. His collarbones are littered with near violet marks when Harry gets up, pacing to the ensuite and dampening a hand towel. He pulls off the blue latex from his softened dick, tossing it into the overflowing trash can beside the pearly white toilet. When he comes back to the safety of his bed, where lingering thoughts of anything but  _ Louis _ and  _ love _ and  _ light _ don’t exist, Louis has fallen asleep, a usual for him. Harry bites his lip, suppressing a grin as he wipes down Louis’ stomach and chest, then his own. 

In a few minutes, Harry is surrounded by warm blankets, a fan blowing into his hair, his arms holding onto Louis’ figure like he’s Harry’s singular life line, as if without him, Harry would cease to exist. 

He takes a moment to reminisce, appreciate the boy in his arms, in his safe embrace. He presses a lingering kiss to the back of his neck as he thinks about the first thing that pops into his mind; game night.

He loves game nights, loves when Louis pulls out his deck of cards and they play a ruthless game of  _ Go Fish _ or a never ending round of  _ War _ . He remembers one instance, when Louis pressed a kiss to a Jack of spades, and drew a tiny, open heart with a scrawled out declaration of love to Harry during a drunken game night, which are even better than the sober ones.

And then the thoughts return as he stares with wide eyes at nothing in particular, loud in his mind. There’s no pinpoint of what the thoughts consist of, nothing he can focus on. He’s awake, more awake than he was before Louis pulled him in by his now-discarded shirt collar onto the mattress, he’s staring at nothing, his mind is everything.

He can feel something clawing at the base of his throat, inching its way to an orifice lined with wet rosy lips and a heart rate that’s accelerating at an alarming rate. Hands grips onto Louis’ biceps a tiny bit harder, not enough to wake the boy, just enough to give Harry a reassurance that he’s not alone, he’s never  _ been  _ alone.

Red encompasses his eyes, and then there’s a blinding light, an itch he needs to scratch, one that he needs to get rid of  _ now _ , right now, there’s nothing else that he can focus on right now, the lingering demon in the corner stepping into the metaphorical light ready to assist him.

Throwing off the covers and pushing Louis away from his chest, he leaps from the bed and into the closet beside the entrance to the ensuite bathroom. His movements are frantic, eyes wide when he pulls the string to the closet light on, the brightness pooling into the covers behind him.

On his tiptoes, he looks at several different boxes on the top shelf, all of them labeled in his hand writing. One of them says “Louis’ Childhood”, another “Miscellaneous,” but the one he’s looking for isn’t there, and fuck, where else could it be but here?

“Motherf-- where is it?” his voice starts soft, growing more frantic and loud as he rips a box from the shelf, the contents flying outside the security of their box and onto the ground, “Can’t fucking find it.”

Faintly, he hears Louis stir in his sleep, making his need grow. He spins on his heel, painfully stepping on objects he can’t bother to look at right now, and hovers over Louis’ sleeping body, poking and prodding his shoulder, his chest, and finally his cheek.

“Louis, Louis, Lou,  _ Louis _ ,” Harry pleads, eyes watering, fingers freezing. Louis squirms, eyebrows furrowing before he opens his bloodshot eyes, unfocused on Harry’s figure.

Louis reaches a hand up, rubbing Harry’s arm, “H, come back to bed.”

“Where’s your deck of cards?” Harry whines, resorting to shoving Louis’ body, waking him up. 

Louis sighs, rubbing one of his temples as he sits up, “Baby, it’s late--”

“Where is it?!” Harry steps back, a hand running through his hair. There’s no way a sense of peace will soothe Harry’s heart until he finds it, until he can hold it in his hands.

“Harry--”

He’s run back to the closet, throwing another box down, one that’s filled to the brim with VHS tapes of recorded episodes of  _ Seinfeld _ or UK soccer games Louis loves to rewatch. They clatter onto the ground, causing Louis to jump from the abruptness. Harry grips his hair in his hands, a whine escaping his lips.

“Where do we keep the games?” Harry feels a tear slip down his cheek, can feel a hellish figure pull at the bits of light within his soul, and for God’s sake he wishes they would find someone else to taunt at the moment, wishes they would leave him alone, at least until he finds the deck of cards.

Louis bites his lip as he watches Harry’s breakdown from the bed, leaning over to put on his discarded boxers before standing. With solemn eyes, he looks at Harry’s hunched figure, watches how he digs through the VHS box and throws one at the wall, shattering it.

“Harry, H, baby,” Louis cautiously walks over to him, hands outstretched, “Come back to bed, it’s alright, we can find it in the morning--”

“No,  _ no _ , I need it  _ now _ ,” Harry isn’t looking at him, is looking at the trashed closet. He pulls down a few shirts, covering the debris of broken VHS tapes, of broken states of mind.

“You’re gonna wake the neighbors again,” Louis grips onto Harry’s bicep, “Please come back to bed.”

Harry rises, pushing Louis out of his way and out of the bedroom, pacing to the storage closet. He pulls back a few neatly folded blankets, pulling down another box that has no meaning to him in his state. He lets out a sob, with Louis trailing behind him quietly, helpless. Louis picks up one of the thrown blankets, draping it around his shoulders.

“Where the fuck is it!” Harry yells, the vibrato bouncing off the walls and painfully into Louis’ ears. Louis sighs, wiping a silent tear from his cheek.

“I can find it if you move out of the way for a second,” Louis mutters, and he doesn’t mean to sound mundane, as if he doesn’t care, but he’s  _ exhausted _ , and from where he’s standing, he can see the clock on the stove blind him menacingly with  _ 2:32 AM _ . 

Harry fails to cease his movements, at this point blind with manic rage, sobs escaping his lips without effort, and slowly, Louis’ heart breaks. He picks up another blanket, throwing it over Harry’s nude body, “C’mon, H, step back.”

Harry seems to come back to reality for a moment, one that isn’t hyper focused on a deck of cards, and steps back, clawing at the forest green blanket that shields him for only a second. Louis steps in front of him, back turned, and carefully pulls a small box labeled “Games” from the top shelf. Before he can walk into the living room and set the box down on the coffee table, it’s snatched from his grip, Harry pouring the contents on top of the strewn out blankets.

He’s on his knees, scrambling with various board games that were previously organized. The  _ Game of Life _ ’s contents have left its box, Louis accidentally stepping on one of the plastic cars and wincing.

Trembling fingers drag against a tiny, worn box of cards, Harry’s heartbeat slowing as he opens it and dumps all the cards onto the mess of the ground. His eyes scan each card he picks up until he lets out a broken cry when a Jack of spades floods his vision, the rest of the dark room becoming a blur of unimportance.

Realization hits Louis and he kneels beside his troubled love, one hand encompassing Harry’s free one, the one that isn’t crumpling the Jack of spades. Harry feels the lingering demon fade off, his duty accomplished.

Harry brings the card to his quivering lips, kissing the written message, before holding it to his sweaty chest. Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s shoulders, bringing him close, into safety, into comfort.

“Found what you’re looking for?” Louis whispers, silent tears dripping off his chin.

“Mhm,” Harry hums, sleep flowing through his veins and heaving his eyelids closed. He could curl into a ball and sleep right here, right on top of  _ Trivia Pursuit  _ and with Louis holding him as he does.

For a while, they’re quiet, absorbed in their own independent thoughts. Drops of water hit the metal of the sink from the leaky faucet in the kitchen, a light flickers outside. Harry can hear some cats getting into a heated discussion to his left, where an alleyway full of more lingering demons sit, waiting for a new victim to stumble across in whatever state of mind they obsess over.

Harry’s eyes flicker over to the blue ones on his right, and for the first time since his search started, he can see, can  _ feel _ the hurt that Louis holds, blowing into him. He frowns, more tears falling down his face.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whines, face squished against Louis’ warm chest, “Sorry, sorry, so sorry.”

“I know, baby,” Louis plays with Harry’s hair, another hand gliding up and down his back, “Ready to go back to bed?”

“Yeah,” Harry replies weakly, embarrassed and ashamed and any other adjective that can be synonym to the ultimate despair he feels for allowing this all to happen, to be so weak against his  _ own _ mind that he brings his loved ones into his mess.

Louis doesn’t move until Harry does, mirroring his movements. He’s still holding on Harry when they saunter back to their bed, ignoring the mess from the past twenty minutes and throwing themselves under the covers. They allow themselves to forget what happened for a moment, and Louis silently thanks whoever's listening that Harry didn’t fall into anything deeper, into something that was more impossible to recover than a deck of cards. 

Jack of spades sticks to Harry’s wet chest, his arms tucked into Louis’ chest and his eyes shut. He feels the manic fade, for a moment, and he thinks of what he thought of earlier in the day.

That hell is empty, and the demons are wreaking havoc. Not only in his own life, but for Louis too.

**Author's Note:**

> REACH ME AT:  
> twitter: [dehydratedpool](https://twitter.com/dehydratedpool) (updates on my fics, behind the scenes, etc.) & [TONGUETIED91](https://twitter.com/TONGUETIED91)  
> tumblr: [dehydratedpoolfics](https://dehydratedpoolfics.tumblr.com)  
> Feel free to reach out to me if you have any questions or comments about anything !!
> 
> \--zri


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